


Second

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7247329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daud finds a new way to cope with the loss of Billie Lurk, his second, and the lack of trust amongst his men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second

**Author's Note:**

> **For  
> [High Chaos Week 2016](http://carvedwhalebones-events.tumblr.com/high-chaos-about). The prompt requested a HC!Daud with LC!Thomas.**

He’s been dreaming of Corvo greeting him in his study, sword drawn and at the ready. He’s been dreaming of his own men, moving through their bunks with blade in hand, slitting their throats in their sleep. Each one leaves him waking in a cold sweat, hands shaking, heaving for air. 

He reflected with pen and parchment over the dreams, never certain if they’re nightmares or fantasies. A part of him wants to desperately live, the other part aches for Corvo to act as his executioner. A part of him wants to preserve what he has created, a part of him wants to ruthlessly destroy it because _only he can._

Daud burns his thoughts before the ink dries, but he listens to his men speak of selling him to the highest bidder and damn, if that doesn’t make his heart race. He wants them to, _he needs them to_ , he _needs_ an excuse to pull out his blade and drive it through them all and — 

Daud swallows thickly when he finds himself light-headed, heart racing in his throat. His thoughts still race, but he’s searching for a cigarette, his temporary cure for the hot rush brewing behind his teeth, sticking like plaque.

Billie didn’t break him, she just took off the rose-tinted glasses he didn’t know he had on. Exposed the neglect and poor leadership he has been accumulating for years, too forgone in himself to see that the arcane bond does not guarantee immaculate loyalty and obedience. He feels — _he knows_ — the Whalers have come to an end when he decided to gut Billie — 

_Ssssst_ , the wet intake of air between clenched teeth fills the air. Daud scratches at his scalp with his free hand, bare fingers digging deep grooves into his skull. His cigarette is trembling, fingers tightening their hold on it until he’s piercing the filter. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t understand why she smiled at him. Doesn’t understand why she reached out and held his arm as she bled like a damn pig before him. 

He flicks the damaged cigarette to the ground and grinds it down with his boot, teeth barred. He lights another, breathing in smoke until his eyes start to burn, vision turning blurry until his world becomes swirls of dark shades. 

That’s when he feels Thomas’ presence. 

Feels the arcane bond pull at the hair on his masked hand, a familiar tug. 

Daud turns his head to the side, runs his hand across his face before he addresses the Whaler with a look. 

Thomas returns it with an uncertain look before he’s cautiously moving forward as if approaching a dangerous animal, revealing folded parchment and laying it on his desk. He squirms when Daud doesn’t respond, folding his hands neatly behind his back and standing at attention. 

“You told me to report to you at noon with the information on the Overseers patrols in The Flooded District…sir?” 

He doesn’t respond, eyes finding the cigarette dying in his fingers, dropping it on the floor. He grinds it with his boot, finding smeared cigarette butts he doesn’t recall littering the space about him. 

Thomas still remains, patient and staring at him. 

He wonders if he looks as dangerous as he feels, heat sitting on his tongue and fingertips. 

“Did you know about Billie?” he finally responds, voice coming out louder than he intends. 

Thomas flinches and Daud’s heart begins to quicken in tempo.

Daud tries again, firmer, “You trained underneath her. She was your mentor. Did you know Billie would betray the cause?” 

_Me. Did you know that Billie would betray me?_

Thomas is trying to stand upright even further, but he’s shifting from foot-to-foot, visibly nervous. “No, sir,” he responds, “if I’d known, I would have informed you.”

Daud walks around the desk, hands curled at his sides, slowly approaching the, now, wide-eyed Whaler. He must know something is amiss, but he still stays, hands folded behind his back. Daud asks the question, again, “Did you know Billie would betray the cause?” 

“No, sir,” Thomas returns, quieter. 

He’s scared. Daud can hear it. He can hear his pulse beating in his throat from where he stands and his heart picks up in speed in response, disgustingly thrilled and poised, shoulders rolling back. To Thomas’ credit, he doesn’t move, his feet rooted to the ground as Daud approaches him. He turns his head away, however, when Daud approaches him, eyes casted downward, neck exposed in open submission. 

He doesn't believe him. It doesn't make sense.

His fingers are on the young Whaler’s throat before the thought comes to be, watching with a disembodied fascination the instantaneous way Thomas seizes in terror. He has the youth by the throat, calloused fingers squeezing as color begins to color Thomas’ cheeks. 

“If I understand correctly,” he seethes, still marveling at the way he can push his fingers even deeper into Thomas’ throat, “you have always been more loyal than Billie Lurk — my second?” 

It hurts more than he cares to admit, a hot froth of rage lodged in his throat. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make any sense. Why did she smile at him? 

Thomas opens his mouth and Daud can’t tell if words are actually coming out of the youth. He can’t hear — isn’t sure he _wants_ to hear. Only the strange hollowness of his own words echoing in the depth of his chest and the rushed tempo of his blood fills his ears. So he squeezes. Daud forces his hand to grip and purchase more of the Whaler’s throat, palm feeling both Thomas’ pulse and the movement of saliva being swallowed against it. He squeezes, the coming of purple spreading across Thomas’ skin cueing the younger male’s limbs to begin to thrash. 

The Whaler doesn’t harm him. He only grabs at his hand, fingers curled around his own, but they don’t make an effort to rip Daud’s hand free from his neck. Just like Billie, the quiet hand resting on him as he drove his blade further.

Daud bares his teeth, finding himself irritated. 

It doesn’t make sense why someone like Thomas would remain resolutely by his side, even in the aftermath of Billie’s death. Thomas is unimportant. Lesser than. Hardly holds a reputable rank within the Whalers. While the others have made it rather apparent that their only continual buy-in is the fact without Daud they lose their powers, Thomas has never displayed such sentiments. Even now, as he chokes the life out of the Whaler, Thomas doesn’t fight back. 

With a final squeeze, he releases the youth. 

The Whaler, immediately, slumps against the wall behind him, wheezing and loudly inhaling, skin a blotched red. There is a white imprint of Daud’s hand on his throat, sure to leave a lasting bruise. The assassin eyes it before Thomas’ hand blocks his view, the youth busy massaging his damaged throat, appearing to struggle to remain standing, altogether. 

Thomas croaks out an unintelligible word, digging his shoulder blades into the wall behind him and using it as a way to pull himself upright. 

He bares his throat, again. No, Thomas is nothing like Billie. Not even close, the realization coming with both triumph and disappointment.

Daud doesn’t go for Thomas' throat, again, with hands, but with teeth. Thomas’ skin is slicked and burning where his nose and mouth are pressed against, feeling the, already, abused flesh pulsate. Somewhere between teeth leaving deep imprints into the youth’s throat, like an animal trying to cut through the thick skin of its prey, he finds Thomas still complaint — submissive. With a snarl muffled against Thomas, he accepts, pushing mouth and self deeper into the Whaler until the youth is panting hotly and making strangled, wet noises against him. 

Daud chews at the offered flesh. 

He's chewing his way into Thomas’ throat, incisors and blunt teeth laying marks over marks, reasserting his claim — no, creating a new one. He will eat his way through the youth — dig, touch, push, pull, and mold until he’s satisfied with Thomas’ loyalty. He wants something more secure — lasting. He wants more than what the arcane bond and Thomas are offering. 

Blood hits his teeth and tongue when the noises leaving Thomas morph into ragged groans and hisses. His teeth have, finally, cut through and he wonders what would happen if he decided to continue chewing. Would he kill the man? Would he be able to gnaw through muscle and tendons? The thought leaves him breathless, nearly choking on his own saliva, moving his mouth to wipe the mess off on Thomas’ jaw. 

“I believe you,” he murmurs, slowly peeling himself off the youth. Thomas' loyalty tastes beaten and permanent, Daud licking his lips.

The room is darker, now, and he wonders how long they’ve been like this, glued to the other by spit and, now, blood. Eyes adjusting to the gloom, he gives Thomas an appraising look, watching him shake and pant against the wall. His face remains flushed, neck covered with teeth marks and smeared blood. He doesn’t move a hand, this time, to touch his throat. He keeps them to his sides, neck still barred, Daud bristling with a resurgence of hunger. 

Daud welcomes the dangerous ache and curl of disgust towards himself when his fingers touch the swelling neck — his new claim. 

“Congratulations,” he presses into the cut his teeth have created, “you will be my new second.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Let me know in a review!_


End file.
